Before leaving the subject of trees, it seems an appropriate time to
share the story of another notable associated with Notre Dame, the
Grotto, and another tree on campus -- Joyce Kilmer.

A random check of the University Archives data base produced a file
containing an interesting 1943 brochure entitled University Statue
Shrine Stories. It had been reprinted from, and published by,
The Kerrville Times in Kerrville, Texas. By now, I was
routinely going through every possible source connected with the Notre
Dame Grotto. The following information produced yet another story
associated with the Notre Dame Grotto.

Father Henry Kemper speaks of a former classmate:

My old Notre Dame classmate, Charley O'Donnell, who later became
Poet Laureate of Indiana and president of his alma mater, Notre Dame,
was a personal friend of the poet, Joyce Kilmer.

They say the big tree that shades Our Lady's niche 'a tree that
looks at God all day and lifts her leafy arms to pray,' was the
inspiration that made the patriot convert, Joyce Kilmer, famous, with
his best-known poem. Kilmer volunteered in The Fighting Irish Brigade
and was killed in action July 30, 1918 at the age of 32. The original
flag of the Irish Brigade, carried through the civil war by General
Meagher's boys was presented to Notre Dame last summer.(271)

Further on it mentions that Kilmer enlisted as a private seventeen
days after the declaration of war by United States and Germany and
within months sailed with the rainbow division to France. His second
child Rose died after a brief illness which culminated in her death on
September 9, 1917. Joyce went overseas soon after. His youngest son
was born a month before he left.

Kilmer's best-known poem, "Trees", was published in September 1913.
In July of the same year, Rose, nine months old, was dangerously ill
with polio. Ellis Butler describes Joyce during those difficult times.
He became a Catholic convert the same year.

He was altogether lovable and loved, he had a winsomeness about
him. I think there are compensations, spiritual and mental, for the
loss of physical power. It was this searing test of the spirit in the
affliction of his daughter that fixed his religion.

On a trip to the Notre Dame Grotto, I found, on the right side of
the Grotto steps leading to the church, a huge stump that must have
once been "the big tree that shades Our Lady's niche." I could only
think, if it were true that it had inspired the poem "Trees," what a
lovely story to be associated with the Grotto. Hardly a child goes
through his schooling without having come in contact with Kilmer's
poem:

Trees

I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a
tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is prest Against the earth's
sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day And
lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A
nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who
intimately lives with rain Poems are made by fools like me But
only God can make a tree.

-- Joyce Kilmer

The Scholastic reported:

Kilmer was noted as writing the poetry of the people, he
mirrored their thoughts(272) . . . . Kilmer
discovered in the most ordinary things rich and unsuspected meanings.(273)

His biographer, Robert Holliday, speaks of Trees And Other
Poems, published in 1913:

The exquisite title poem now so universally known, made his
reputation more than all the rest he had written put together. That
impeccable lyric which made for immediate widespread popularity.

Following are more references to Kilmer by Holliday:

His song was as old as the hills, and as fresh as the morning.
Precisely in this, in fact, is his remarkableness, his originality, as
a contemporary poet; and in this will be, I think, his abiding quality.
'Simple and direct, yet not without subtle magic,' wrote Father James
J. Daly, S.J., in a review of "Trees and Other Poems," printed in
America, his verse, 'seems artlessly naive, yet it possesses
deep undercurrents of masculine and forceful thought; it is ethical in
its seriousness, and yet as playful and light-hearted as sunlight and
shadows under summer oaks.'

Only the name of James Whitcomb Riley expresses in greater measure
the rich gift of speaking with authentic song to the simplest hearts.

In letters sent home during the war in Europe, Kilmer wrote:

At present, I am a poet trying to be a soldier. To tell the
truth, I am not interested in writing nowadays, except in so far as
writing is the expression of something beautiful. . . . The only sort
of book I care to write about the war is the sort people will read
after the war is over -- a century after it is over.(274)

And from another letter, another Kilmer quote is shared:

'I'd rather be a sergeant in the 69th than a lieutenant in any
other regiment in the world!' So a sergeant he remained, and one is
not surprised to read, 'He was worshiped by the men about him.' He was
killed on a reconnaissance patrol during the second battle of Marne,
beside the Oureq River near the village of Seringes.(275)

Paul Scofield '20, captures that moment for all fallen soldiers in a
touching tribute to Kilmer in the a 1919 Scholastic:

Suffer us to offer not only our condolences upon a death but
also our congratulations. Death accepted in the Christian Spirit
assures the safety of this man's soul. Possessed of that rare
combination so alien to most of us, romance and common sense. And
he never forgot that no matter how unpleasant life may be it is much
too good for us. Thank God for God.

He religiously exclaimed and then joyously undertook the tasks that
Life assigned him. How applicable to himself are the concluding lines
of his 'Rouge Bouquet' [written for his fallen comrades]. 'Comrade
true, born anew, peace to you / Your souls shall be where the heroes
are / And your memory shine like the morning star.' And now in France
there is 'in that rich earth a richer dust concealed, the dust of a
soldier' newly strong in God's white company. The dust of an
unconquerable spirit whose immortal songs shall never die.(276)

I was surprised to learn "some of his poems were set to music by his
mother and published in England as songs."(277) A thesis written about
Kilmer in 1927, by a friend of the family, Sister Roberta Bresnan --
"Home Life as a Theme in the poetry of Joyce Kilmer" -- speaks of
Kilmer:

He had a quiet way of being genuine. He loved the simplest
things of life because he was himself perhaps the simplest. His poetry
expressed the remedy for all this world's woes, in one small word of
deep and lasting significance, the word 'home.' When we designate it as
a place it immediately shifts to a feeling, a person, an object. It
may embrace an entire country or it may be confined within the
perimeter of four walls.(278)

It reminded me of another Kilmer poem I'm fond of, "The House With
Nobody In It." Being a lover of old homes, it left a deep impression on
me. It captured not only the sadness of the ruins of a once loved
home, but also the warmth and wholesomeness of a family that makes a
house a home. Like "Trees" it is another example of his homey
colloquial style.

The House with Nobody In It

Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track I
go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black. I
suppose I've passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a
minute And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with
nobody in it.

I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there
are such things; That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth
and sorrowings. I know this house isn't haunted, and I wish it
were, I do; For it wouldn't be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.

This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes
of glass, And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to
the grass. It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be
trimmed and tied; But what it needs the most of all is some people
living inside.

If I had a lot of money and all my debts were
paid I'd put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and
spade. I'd buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I'd find some people who wanted a home and give it to them
free.

Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window
and door, Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block
in the store. But there's nothing mournful about it; it cannot be
sad and lone For the lack of something within it that it has never
known.

But a house that has done what a house should do, a
house that has sheltered life, That has put its loving wooden arms
around a man and his wife, A house that has echoed a baby's laugh
and held up his stumbling feet, Is the saddest sight, when it's
left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.

So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen
apart, For I can't help thinking the poor old house is a house with
a broken heart.

-- Joyce Kilmer

I tried to visualize the Grotto when Joyce may have been there, the
way he might have seen it, and a description of the campus penned by a writer
in an 1886 newspaper came to mind. It confirms that the tradition of
praying places among the trees was as much in evidence then as now:

The grounds around the college are laid out in finely shaded
walks. As we pass over the grounds we notice that which always finds a
tender spot in the hearts of all Catholics in the great number of
oratories and abodes for prayer that are to be found in secluded parts
of the grounds, that students on their walks may have an opportunity of
offering to heaven their prayers undisturbed and with only the sky and
the trees for witness.(279)

For such a memorable poem, as "Trees," to be associated with the
Grotto would indeed be an honor worthy of every effort I might make to
verify it.

Researching Kilmer

There was very little in the University Archives about Joyce Kilmer.
A few mentions of lectures he made on campus, a few letters exchanged
with Father Charles O'Donnell and Father John W. Cavanaugh arranging
those lectures, but nothing personal, and nothing before the fall of
1914.

A number of books of poems, a doctorate written by a nun, a
biography, gave me little information to go on. I combed through those
books looking for evidence of his first visit to Notre Dame prior to
that first lecture but found nothing.

One book written by a Brother Roberto did mention that he was
working at the New York Times in 1914 and decided to supplement
his income by arranging for lectures in eastern universities. He was
poet and literary critic for the New York Times and The
Literary Digest. Notre Dame was mentioned. Father O'Donnell,
being a poet, it seemed reasonable his initial contact may have been
with him and either before or after that first lecture they became
friends and correspondents. Father Charles O'Donnell was also a
chaplain where Kilmer was stationed during the war in Europe and he
corresponded with Kilmer's widow, Aline, until his death.

"Trees" was first published in 1913.(280) There was no indication
of when it was actually written. The prospects of finding any
surviving family members who might have that information were remote.
I again went back to the books in the Hesburgh Library stacks and this
time took a closer look at a mimeographed plastic ring binder that had
escaped close scrutiny the first time around.

It was a booklet compiled by the Campion College Of The Sacred
Heart, Prairie du Chien, Wis. in late 1937 in memory of Joyce Kilmer.
The booklet was entitled Kilmer And Campion. There was a
photograph taken of Kilmer's daughter, a Benedictine nun, and his
youngest son, Christopher, who was only a month old, when Kilmer went
overseas and never returned. They were photographed together at the
celebration.

Suddenly, it dawned on me. It might be nigh on to impossible to
locate a lay person but a religious was another matter. Although the
chances that she might still be living 57 years later were rather
remote, I decided to give it a try. Library reference produced the
telephone number of The Sisters of St. Benedict in St. Joseph, Minn.
I was able to trace Sister Michael to St. Cloud through the order.
"Yes," the Sister replied, "she is still with us but she is at another
number."

Within minutes, I was talking to Kilmer's daughter at St. Cloud,
Minn. She was delightfully friendly and most cooperative. She said
she was sorry to report that to her knowledge no tree had been
recognized as the one that inspired her father's poem, that it was her
understanding that it was written at his home in New Jersey. She said
her older brother might be able to remember more about it and she
offered me his telephone number in Vienna, VA. It looked like I had
found what I wanted, but not what I wanted to hear.

Thanking her for her help and her brother's number, I dialed it
immediately finding at the other end of the telephone line a most
hospitable Kenton Kilmer, oldest child of Joyce Kilmer. He confirmed
his sister's impression. He said he also had a letter written by his
mother explaining the origin of the poem Trees, as she knew it,
to another inquirer and he would send me anything he had which might be
of help. Many places, he said, including Kilmer's alma mater, Rutgers,
had trees they felt had inspired Kilmer's poem.

When a large brown envelope arrived, I was most grateful for the
material he had included. He said Richmond, NH, Prairie du Chien
(Campion), and a Catholic Summer School and Retreat House on the shores
of Lake Champlain were others said to have inspired his poem. He
included pictures of the family home, the trees in front of it, and a
copy of Kilmer's poem handwritten by him at the time.

He then described when and where Joyce Kilmer wrote his much loved
poem:

Trees was written at his home in Mahwah, New Jersey on February
2, 1913. It was written in the afternoon in the intervals of some
other writing. The desk was in an upstairs room, by a window looking
down a wooded hill. It was written in a little notebook in which his
father and mother wrote out copies of several of their poems, and, in
most cases, added the date of composition. On one page the first two
lines of 'Trees' appear, with the date, February 2, 1913, and on
another page, further on in the book, is the full text of the poem. It
was dedicated to his wife's mother, Mrs. Henry Mills Alden, who was
endeared to all her family. It would be a challenge to build an
anthology of famous poems dedicated or addressed to mothers-in-law.
Edgar Allan Poe's To Helen would join Trees in beginning
such a collection.

One day, shortly after I received this information, I was sharing my
most recent Grotto research with my friend, Father Schidel, during a
visit with him at Holy Cross House on campus. When I read the quote
about Joyce and the Grotto I'd found in the obscure brochure at the
archives, he began nodding his head (this before sharing any of the
material from Kenton Kilmer). "What does that mean?" I asked,
referring to his head shaking yes. He said he, too, had heard the same
story over the years and he'd ask Father Carey, a nephew of Father
Charles O'Donnell, the poet Laureate and Kilmer's good friend, if his
uncle had ever mentioned Joyce and the Grotto.

Later he informed me that Father Carey did remember one comment his
uncle made about walking around the lake and Grotto lawn with Kilmer
and how they had stopped to admire what they both felt was a perfect
tree. The one sheltering Our Lady and the Grotto perhaps? All of
which could have been before the 1913 poem was written or, more likely,
afterwards, in discussing it.

My friend, Father Jan, in his book, mentions how Joyce Kilmer
visited their English class and recited his famous poem. Father Jan
began his studies at Notre Dame in the fall of 1913, eight months after
it was written and just weeks after it was published. He describes his
remembrance of him in his book:

It was one of my happy graces to have Father (Charles) O'Donnell
as a teacher in English. Into our classroom one day, he invited his
fellow-poet, Joyce Kilmer, the author of "Trees." He himself recited
his immortal lines with a commanding artistic touch. He was a
mild-mannered man whose eyes betrayed a wealth of inspiring thoughts,
and also a definite spark of courage, enabling him later to give his
life for his country in World War I.(281)

Sister Madeleva, former President of St. Mary's College, and a poet,
was also a friend of Joyce Kilmer in her early days as a nun. Sister
Madeleva took a summer class in creative writing from Father Charles
O'Donnell at St. Mary's and through him she met Kilmer. In her
autobiography, My First Seventy Years, she speaks of her
friendship with them:

More than once Joyce Kilmer came with Father O'Donnell to visit.
Their minds were quick with poems waiting to be written. The
importunities of war pressed. Both men volunteered for service. Both
went overseas. Joyce was killed in action on July 30, 1918, near Ourcq
in France and buried beside a stream that bears the same name. Father
blessed his grave before coming home. Aline, his wife, and I
corresponded occasionally until her death. The children, Sister
Michael, the Benedictine daughter, and Kenton with his artist-wife and
children I prize as friends.(282)

Unfortunately, Sister Madeleva's grade transcript for the date of
that creative writing class and her letters and papers gave no clues to
her first meeting with Kilmer on the St. Mary's campus. However, one
of her poems being about candle-light, seems fitting to include in a
segment about poets and the Grotto. Would that this portion of it
might be placed at the Grotto as inspiration for all who visit there,
in part:

Candle-Light

Day has its sun,
And night the stars.
But God has candle-light.

Upon the world's great candle-stick He sets
The little taper of yourself ashine,
That . . .
Your immortality may flame and burn
Across His infinite immensity forever.

The next time I saw Father Carey he confirmed the story about his
uncle walking around the lake with Joyce Kilmer and pausing to admire
that "perfect tree" near the Grotto. Father Carey seemed to have the
answer to almost every question about the campus I asked of him.

One day I heard of the existence of a Colt .25 semi-automatic
handgun supposedly used by, Father Nieuwland and Professor Greene,
leading American Botanist, and Professor of Botany at Notre Dame, to
shoot specimens of leaves from the trees on campus in the 1920s. It
was thought the gun was still in a center drawer of the desk in an
office Nieuwland once occupied in the Science Building.

It seemed just a tall campus tale but I decided to ask Father Carey
about it anyway. Once again, I found him a ready source of information
about the campus. "That's a new one on me," he said, "but I'll be
glad to check it out for you. The Professor who has that office lives
in Corby Hall with me and we regularly play cards together. "I'll ask
him about it."

On my next Friday visit to Holy Cross House, Father Carey again
passed on the confirmation. "It's there all right," he grinned, "and
its been there through every person whose had that desk since." I
couldn't help but smile -- and so has everyone else I've told the story
to -- in trying to envision this famous pair of scholars collecting
specimens, too high to reach, with a Colt .25 pistol. One more tale
about the campus confirmed and this one, appropriately, about trees.
Later I found written evidence that this story was true. I also found
evidence that Father Nieuwland used a rifle for the same purpose when
he was on field trips in the wilds.(284)

Kilmer was quoted as saying in the Kilmer And Campion
book:

I can honestly offer 'Trees' and 'Main Street' to Our Lady and
ask her to present them as the faithful work of a poor unskilled
craftsman, to her son.(285)

All of which shows that Our Lady was in there somewhere. Since the
priest who wrote the brochure with the Notre Dame Grotto reference, was
also a friend of Father O'Donnell, undoubtedly he might have been
repeating something he remembered him saying about Kilmer and used the
"they say" because he couldn't confirm it. Unfortunately, neither could
I.

In my letter to Kenton Kilmer I quoted Father Schidel's thoughts on
Kilmer's poem. He said that Belloc, a fellow poet of Joyce, spoke of
"poetry being the distillation of the mind." This could mean that even
though Joyce wrote the poem in the bedroom of his home, he might have
been affected by trees he had seen in many localities and the poem
"jelled" in verse upon looking out his window at the trees in his yard.
In other words, we know where the poem was written, but probably only
God knows where and when it was inspired.

Kenton's reply wrapped up my research admirably:

Mother and I agreed, when we talked about it, that Dad never
meant his poem to apply to one particular tree, or to the trees of any
special region. Just any trees or all trees that might be rained on or
snowed on, and that would be suitable nesting places for robins. I
guess they'd have to have upward-reaching branches, too, for the line
about 'lifting leafy arms to pray.' Rule out weeping willows.

. . . I think Father Schidel's opinion that you quote is just right
and in complete accord with what my mother and I agreed on. Dad meant
trees in general, was surely thinking of the trees he was looking at,
and probably of trees he had seen in the past, such as the famous one
on the Rutgers campus. But what he was thinking and saying applies
equally to trees he didn't see until later, or trees he never would
see. Dad would surely be pleased with Father Schidel's citation of the
Belloc quotation, for its aptness to the subject, because Dad was a
fervent admirer of Belloc's poetry. He wrote the introduction to the
American publication of Belloc's Verses.

. . . It is plain from comments in my father's letters, and the
quoted remarks such as you cite, that Dad's devotion to Christ was
always joined with the love of His Mother. I am sure that a grove of
trees dedicated to the Blessed Virgin could have inspired him to write
such a poem as 'Trees', if the poem had not already been written.(286)

In the course of a later telephone conversation with Kenton Kilmer,
I found another connection with Notre Dame. In his letter he mentioned
that he had worked for many years at the Library of Congress. On the
phone, he shared this added remembrance associated with the University.
He told me that when he was a young man he was invited to teach at
Notre Dame and declined because he didn't think he was up to teaching
young students. Then he chuckled, and told me, that instead, he wound
up having a large family and got his training firsthand.

I had proof that Kilmer was on campus in 1913, the year he wrote and
published "Trees." However, I had no evidence to prove that he had
visited the campus and the Grotto prior to the time he wrote it,
although it was possible. All together, it was a thoroughly enjoyable
brief conversational encounter with the children of Joyce Kilmer. And
short of an affirmative answer, I couldn't have asked for a more
satisfying conclusion to my study of Kilmer and his association with
the University and the Notre Dame Grotto.

Joyce Kilmer's "Trees," and Tom Stritch's view of the campus from
his book, My Notre Dame, express, so well, the warmth and
welcome we receive from trees:

Few American colleges can rival its layout, none its trees. Of
all the things to look at around Notre Dame I think I like the trees
the best. . . . I seldom look at that island without thinking how
lovely its redbud trees look from the Grotto lawn in the spring.(287)

Another appreciator of trees, Father Cornelius Hagerty, an avid
canoeist, made this interesting observation about their appeal to
lovers of nature: "Trees stand still and let you look at them and are
there in all seasons."

In my imagination, I can picture Joyce Kilmer
now, circling the St. Mary's Lake with Father O'Donnell, pausing in the
shade of the Grotto lawn and admiring that "perfect tree" shading Our
Lady's niche.

Coincidentally, another Father O'Donnell, Rev. Thomas J. O'Donnell,
C.S.C. '41 (no relation to President Charles O'Donnell) captured, as
well, the essence of Kilmer and his poem, "Trees" in an article about
the Grotto in a 1963 Scholastic. It is especially fitting to
share here because in it he speaks of Kilmer:

It has been a favorite with visitors at all times; and during
the spring and autumn those who live at Notre Dame seek it
instinctively for coolness and attractiveness.

The canopy of trees, digging their roots into the unhewn rock, is
the proudest grove on campus. And rightly so. These trees are a
garland of green on a crown of rocks. They have lived up to all the
beauty of Kilmer's poem . . . as all trees must. But these have done
more. They have listened to May songs; they have watched flickering
vigil lights; they have stood as silent sentinels while anxious prayers
and burdened hearts lifted hopeful eyes to Our Lady. The trees of the
Grotto -- if they could speak -- would speak only in a whisper. . . .(288)